(no subject)
when this year comes around I'm traumatized by songs and sounds. the humidity the grounds. the places we've been aren't covered by shadows. everything is one big free for all of memories and ideas.
we used to be such happy heads when i look back at dave times. at the time i beat you with my fists and you hid your shit from me to be polite.
then we'd all dance and smile and take off our shirts. seeming like the time was boring, we really made time by watching horror films, cooking collards, playing cards, our too far out conversations on Dave's balcony. looking down onto your grandmas. dave loved his wife and kids. gave us his sofa. when we needed to score, we knew everyone around the block. you and me. walkin the block. bull shittin with the neighbors. genuinely loving it and being scared shitless. a lot of shit comes with the hustle. maybe that's how we became known. we were so bad to each other. that whole street turned on us. turned US on EACH OTHER. I don't know anyone who would go through the shit we went through on purpose. to watch each other have sex…with other people out of bragging? but it seems like we were always #1 to each other. its so hard. i mean that as… you and me are so hard. i've never heard another story like ours. unless the others are hiding them too. the sexual tension we have thats been respected pretty much since katrina. and we've kept it civil. either you had someone or i had someone. but when we're together this is more than a friendship. it's selfish. and its sexy. somehow platonic, but either one would take it in a heartbeat if it were the right circumstances. it's business. its jealousy. its passion. everyone in the world who sees us together thinks I'm his…and the thing is he protects me. always has. maybe to someone else… no. but when he puts his arm around me in front of the thugs, they respect him. I'm with him. I'm on the crazy plane. i'm the beautiful face that keeps the crackheads sane. and my crazy helps too. if I'm hanging with this dude and he's respecting me, these thugs know I'm crazy. so either he's in I'm in, he's out I'm out. I'd stand by him no matter what. these low lifes are lower than us…stay the fuck away.
i can't believe how long i loved like that. when i think about living through these ghettos they make me shake my head to get the thought out. obviously ptsd. why would i go down a horrible street and turn my lights off and go ask a dude on the street for… i've admitted enough tonight. and it hurts and its hard.
I'm used to years of this. how do i get out?
we used to be such happy heads when i look back at dave times. at the time i beat you with my fists and you hid your shit from me to be polite.
then we'd all dance and smile and take off our shirts. seeming like the time was boring, we really made time by watching horror films, cooking collards, playing cards, our too far out conversations on Dave's balcony. looking down onto your grandmas. dave loved his wife and kids. gave us his sofa. when we needed to score, we knew everyone around the block. you and me. walkin the block. bull shittin with the neighbors. genuinely loving it and being scared shitless. a lot of shit comes with the hustle. maybe that's how we became known. we were so bad to each other. that whole street turned on us. turned US on EACH OTHER. I don't know anyone who would go through the shit we went through on purpose. to watch each other have sex…with other people out of bragging? but it seems like we were always #1 to each other. its so hard. i mean that as… you and me are so hard. i've never heard another story like ours. unless the others are hiding them too. the sexual tension we have thats been respected pretty much since katrina. and we've kept it civil. either you had someone or i had someone. but when we're together this is more than a friendship. it's selfish. and its sexy. somehow platonic, but either one would take it in a heartbeat if it were the right circumstances. it's business. its jealousy. its passion. everyone in the world who sees us together thinks I'm his…and the thing is he protects me. always has. maybe to someone else… no. but when he puts his arm around me in front of the thugs, they respect him. I'm with him. I'm on the crazy plane. i'm the beautiful face that keeps the crackheads sane. and my crazy helps too. if I'm hanging with this dude and he's respecting me, these thugs know I'm crazy. so either he's in I'm in, he's out I'm out. I'd stand by him no matter what. these low lifes are lower than us…stay the fuck away.
i can't believe how long i loved like that. when i think about living through these ghettos they make me shake my head to get the thought out. obviously ptsd. why would i go down a horrible street and turn my lights off and go ask a dude on the street for… i've admitted enough tonight. and it hurts and its hard.
I'm used to years of this. how do i get out?